Time-travel is Unfortunate
by Leonhard van Euler
Summary: After ten years, Voldemort was finally killed, thus ending the Second Wizarding War. Since then, two years on, Harry has become a politician. However, his talent for getting into trouble kicks in and he is sent back in time to the Founders... And they seem to be short of one Hogwarts house head... The house of the ambitious. A Harry is Salazar story. Discontinued


**This is a Harry is Salazar Slytherin story. I hope you like it. **

**Also, I wish to give you some information first. This story is a little AU... well.. a little. **

**Harry is 28-29 years old. The Second Wizarding War started (officially) in 1998 and ended in 2008 - 10 years. Two years later, Harry became a politician. **

**Enjoy!**

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The smell of disinfectant ***1 (A/N)** was strong... So strong in fact, that Harry felt it invading his senses. It was one of those sort of smells which one automatically despised and Harry had learned how to despise it relatively early in his life.

When he'd been five years old, his 'uncle' Vernon had managed to 'accidentally' push him down the stairs - well that was what the medical report said anyway. No, that hadn't been what had happened. One evening, Vernon had come late from work, weary and exhausted, he'd instantly demanded for food which Harry had had to heat up, and had then proceeded to curse his boss for not giving him the promotion.

Vernon had then of course put all the blame on Harry - who had been completely innocent. The next few hours had been hell, but Harry had been so injured, that he'd been hospitalised. The nurses had asked him whether he was beaten, the doctors, and even some fellow patients. He'd denied all their claims, saying that it had been an honest mistake.

He had realised later though, that Vernon was a simply foul horrible human being...no... he was a _muggle. _

It was to these thoughts that Harry slowly opened his eyes, wincing as the bright light and light colours of an infirmary ward hit him. He tried to sit up in bed, but everything in his blurry vision swam, and he was forced to lay his head down again.

Listening carefully, he noticed the sound of a BP-monitor was missing, so was any type of IV - obviously he wasn't in a muggle hospital. Hogwarts then? But... why Hogwarts?

The last thing he remembered was coming out of the Ministry of Magic, talking with the Muggle Minister of Defense, Mr Holmes. They had been talking about all the PTSD patients who had survived the Second Wizarding War, which had taken over ten years to end.

Shifting in his bed, Harry noticed with a small frown that his legs weren't responding all that well to any movements he commanded them to do... Was it possible that his muscles had degenerated enough for him not to be able to move and use them properly? ...But no - that would mean that he would have had to been asleep for quite a long time.

He was about to call for someone to attend to him and tell him where he was, what had happened and - Suddenly he felt a spell wash over him - which he registered as a translation spell.

"My Lord!" Exclaimed a warm voice from somewhere near him and he instantly raised his eyes to the screen (which was being moved aside). A medi-witch - or at least, Harry thought she was a medi-witch (as all he could really see was a blob which resembled a person) - entered his small ward, shocking him out of his thoughts.

"How are you feeling, Milord?" She asked urgently as Harry slowly stretched his arms, feeling some numbness in them too.

"I-I'm fi-i-i-ine," Harry muttered, trying to ignore his croaky voice - probably because of disuse. He heard a loud snort of disbelief coming from the general direction of the medi-witch and winced when he suddenly felt a thin vail (probably a healing potion) bumping against his head gently - much how Dumbledore had once done with the Dursleys.

He reached out with a thin hand and grabbed the vail. Bringing it up to his nose, to bring it into any sort of focus, he concluded that he had absolutely no idea what it was.

"It's a muscle-regenerating potion also known by it's latin name, _crescere musculus." _The woman said softly as she reached out to the bedside table (which to Harry was nothing more than a blob which was a light grey colour) and handed him something else - his glasses.

Harry smiled at her - or rather he _thought _it was her - another white blob had made it's way into his 'room', if one could call it that. Slipping his glasses on, he sighed, relieved that he could finally see - and was surprised to note that a tall, broad shouldered man had stepped slipped in.

He seemed to be epitome for someone who was the complete opposite to elegance. His tall, broad-shouldered, muscular form indicated that he was a man of action - not a man of diplomacy as Harry had become in the recent years. He was tanned, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors (something which Harry hadn't been doing so much of making him look more like a pale ghost than a living human being), and as Harry glanced at his hands, he noticed they were rough - hardened by labour. The callouses on his palm, pointer finger and middle finger indicated that he used the more traditional duelling style - a warrior then, an auror?

Then again, everyone who had participated in the second wizarding war had ended up using that same style - Harry himself had taught it to refugees who had come to Hogwarts. It was simply an easier way to handle a wand - effective and quick.

Gaze once more examining the man, Harry frowned inwardly when he saw that the man wearing a white tunic and a pair of medieval looking breeches. Over that he wore a thick rusty-bordeaux red ***2(A/N)** cloak with a red and gold pattern. The Wizarding World had always been far behind the Muggle world - to Harry it had always seemed that they had been stuck in the Medieval Age... and were so accustomed to wearing cloaks, writing with quills and using owls for mail, that they didn't seem to want to change.

Well... in the last two years of the Second Wizarding War, much had changed - the wizards had advanced a lot... well more than they had in the last few centuries anyway and suddenly they had started using muggle technology. Well, the light side had anyway. At first they had all seemed a little anxious, but some muggleborns had convinced the others that it was the only way to defeat Voldemort - or be defeated. In the end, an atomic bomb had been launched at Voldemorts manor (while the fighting was going on)- thus killing most of Voldemort's lackeys - and most importantly - the man himself.

It had come at a price though. Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville and countless other wizards opposing Voldemort had been out there - in the fight - and... they had all died.

After ten years of fighting against Voldemort - Harry at the time being almost 27 - the war had ended. Harry himself had disappeared from the pubic view. He had retreated into Grimmauld Place, and had mourned for a year after which he'd pulled himself together, claimed his inheritance - Lord of houses Potter and Black - and became a politician.

"...found you unconscious in the woods."

Harry blinked several times as he was suddenly snapped out from his terrifying, nightmare provoking memories, and his eyes swivelled back at the man - and the woman (who was also coincidentally wearing period clothes and reminded him a lot of the Weasley matriarch).

They were both staring at him curiously, no doubt as interested in him as he was in them.

"I apologise - my mind often likes to wander." He said, his voice still slightly croaky from disuse. The woman smiled gently - slightly sadly as she examined him once more.

"No matter, young man, none should have to suffer through the injustice which you have had to endure." She said, reaching out with her hand and brushing a lock away - and revealing his lightning bolt scar. Harry closed his eyes briefly. He knew he should be more panicked - but this was Hogwarts - he was fairly certain of that - he could feel the magic pulsating around him, caressing his own and calming it. It was odd though... It didn't feel as ancient as he knew it.. and glancing around the hospital wing, he frowned as he realised the walls were bare of any paintings. Nevertheless, if he was at Hogwarts - and Hogwarts was safe - there was no possible way that these two were supporters of the late Voldemort.

The man cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back as he awkwardly stood there. "Sire, have been unconscious for the past seven months." He stated bluntly... and if the situation hadn't been so odd, Harry would have been amused at the way the man addressed him - and the fact that the man had absolutely no tact. "My dear Lady Helga," He said, gesturing at the medi-witch who smiled once more, "Found you in the Caledonian Forest, near this castle."

The woman placed a hand on his forearm to stop him from speaking and continued with the story, "Milord, I healed you back to health. After all, it was winter. You were sick and unconscious - I could not as a medi-witch leave you there, freezing and dying. Godric," She paused and Harry smirked in amusement. Godric and Helga were relatively normal wizarding names - but to find two people of the same age and seemingly friends, was odd. "I am afraid, was not very cooperative. My Lord, as you might know, these are dangerous times. Godric believed you were a warlock of the clan Morbius, here to attack the castle full of students."

Ok, this was getting weirder and weirder. Warlock of the clan Morbius? He had never heard of such an absurd notion. Morbius - as far as he knew, meant ill mind, and from what he had understood, this was a sort of cult... Who would name themselves warlocks of the clan ill minded? Could all of this have happened in the seven months he'd been unconscious?

"Where am I?" Harry finally asked - although he wanted it to be confirmed, it felt like Hogwarts, but wasn't really Hogwarts. Helga and Godric exchanged an amused smile.

"Why Hogwarts of course!" Godric said with a large, almost blinding grin - which suddenly revealed his true character - a happy puppy who's appearance was very deceiving. Much like Hagrid.

"And what's the date?" Harry asked while setting the vial down on his lap and taking his glasses off to clean the specks a little.

"Second of July, 900." Helga said casually and Harry froze, his glasses falling from his limp hand and onto his lap - noisily falling on the vail. He quickly scooped them up and perched them on his nose again - and stared at the two who were staring at him amusedly.

Had she said 900? 900? 900... AD?

"900? 900 AD?" He croaked out, as he clutched the bed covers to his chest, all of a sudden very anxious. Had he been sent back in time? All the way back to the founder's time. His eyes widened instantly - founder's time. "Oh my God," he whispered under his breath as he stared at the couple. They weren't _just _a Godric and Helga. They were Godric Gryffindor and Helga Hufflepuff.

"Yes, Milord," Godric mumbled uncertainly, wearily examining him. Helga on the other hand frowned worriedly, worried about her patient, "Something the matter, my lord? Why does the date surprise you so?"

Harry closed his eyes briefly, and composed himself. As he pushed his occlumency barriers up, he felt his mind fall into a serene sort of peace and he sighed deeply. These two couldn't know that he was a time-traveller. Who knew what they would do to him? No, he would have to keep it a secret.

Opening his eyes and instantly pulling 'The Politician' mask on, he smirked slightly, "I'm quite alright, my lady Helga. I was simply surprised I had slept through so much."

She nodded, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, slightly doubting his excuse. Godric however, lived up to his name and house traits, and nodded gullibly, grinning from ear to ear.

"So," He said, walking - or rather, strutting - over to Harry, who was lying stiffly in bed, "You seem to have us at disadvantage, you know our names. We however, only know you are a Lord," He said gesturing at the Lordship ring on Harry's ring finger. He glanced at it, and smirked inwardly - pleased that his Black ring had survived the trip through time. It was a simple coat of arms - two snakes wrapped around a wand.

Harry smirked, and caressed the ring with his other hand. "Well, I was travelling here in order to start afresh. The estate on which I used to live on was destroyed by the... ah, Morbius clan. I am afraid, my friends, family and acquaintances are all dead." He hung his head, hoping his little story would work, and glancing through his lashes, he noticed that Helga was staring at him with pity and Godric with sympathy. Then raising his head, he smirked at them both, "I wish to start anew and a new name I believe, I shall need."

Godric placed a hand on his shoulder, and smiling gently, swallowing all the lies Harry had just spouted at him. Harry smirked inwardly, as soon as he was healthy again, he would leave... He needed to find a way back home.

"I understand, my lord. I would have done the same." Godric said with a kind smile and Harry almost rolled his eyes. Was the man _that _gullible?

"What say you," Godric said, turning to Helga with a smile, "To the name Salazar? Noble and slithery - much like our friend here."

Harry froze momentarily - Godric wanted to call him Salazar? Wasn't there a Salazar Slytherin already? (the evidence however indicated otherwise) ...Or maybe... Harry felt the dark magic in him stir and he frowned inwardly... maybe - he'd always been destined to be Salazar Slytherin. Maybe, he _was _him.. After all, he'd been sent into the past by some unknown entity.

"Slithery," Said Helga grinning, "Salazar Slytherin!"

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***1 - There is a spell which cleans stuff - however, the spell isn't really explained in canon. In my universe... it leaves the smell of disinfectant behind. **

***2 - ****bordeaux red: is a famous red wine... and has a very unique colour. **

**Anyway, I hope you liked the prologue. **


End file.
